Six Degrees From Perfect
by ChronicSarcasm
Summary: Growing up in the 50s wasn't easy for a lot of reasons. For Kurt Hummel, that struggle is made even harder by the secret he has to keep. When he meets someone who shares that secret, his whole world is changed, but for better or worse? Kurt/Dave


**A/N: **This is my first chaptered piece of fanfiction; which is probably about due considering I've been a part of the fandom for over a year now. It's a 50s AU piece, and whilst I've tried to be as historically accurate as I can Google will only take you so far. If you see anything that is clearly erroneous please let me know; I'd like for this to be authentic, so all input is welcomed. Other than that I should warn that I'll try to update fairly regularly, but I can't promise a schedule. I'm not sure how long this will pan out to be, but I hope to have it done by the end of the holidays. We'll see if I'm so lucky. I should probably also mention I don't own the characters in this fic or Glee generally, and that this is purely a work of fanfiction with no hopes of profit. Anyway, now that the boring stuff is out of the way, here's the first chapter.

**Six Degrees From Perfect**

**Chapter One**

"Kurt, reckon you could show a little interest here?"

The sound of his dad's voice drew him out of his book, which he took a cursory glance over to look at the screen in the corner.

"The Browns are going to lose," he said with a sense of finality he didn't really have, but it was easier than taking a genuine interest in the game.

"You don't know that," his dad said, looking at him with a serious expression, as if he had said a swear in front of him.

"Sure as there are fifty states, Dad, the Browns'll lose," he replied with a smirk. At the very least it was entertaining to watch his dad get so invested in the games every Saturday. Kurt didn't really understand it; at least he had some sort of personal affiliation at the high school games, even if the sport itself was fairly dull.

"A little positive thinking might help," his dad huffed, eyes moving back to the TV. It was an awfully big box for such a small, grainy screen, and Kurt would have chosen to listen to the radio instead, but ever since his dad had bought the thing it had become his pride and joy. Kurt sometimes felt like reminding him that the sun shone in the sky, and not out of the TV, but he'd managed to keep it to himself so far. It was when his dad started voluntarily cleaning it that they had a problem.

"Not gonna make a difference Dad," Kurt said, raising his voice slightly, his smile still stuck to his face.

"Wouldn't hurt," he heard his dad mumble, but when he looked over there was a smile under the brim of his baseball cap. It looked silly indoors, but he guessed his dad wore it so he could forget just how little hair he actually had. Taking male pattern baldness into account, Kurt didn't really want reminding either.

"In that case, consider my fingers crossed and let me know when the miracle happens," he finished, returning his attention to his book. As far as 'family time' went theirs was undoubtably dysfunctional, but then that reflected their family. There were hardly any single-parent families in Lima, and out of those it was mostly mothers. Not that Kurt was ungrateful - his dad did a good enough job where it counted; like keeping a roof over their heads and dinner on the table, but when it came to bonding things were more hit and miss. They both made an effort, Kurt with the sports and his dad with his art, but the reality was that they just didn't have much common ground to build on.

It wasn't until he saw his dad starting to drum his fingers in frustration that he decided that it was time to head out. When he was in a bad mood he tended to moan a lot, and Kurt didn't really want to waste his Saturday listening to it, especially when it was over something as trivial as _football_.

"I'm gonna go to the park," he said, getting up, trying to sound casual, "Might meet Rachel in town later."

"Fine, you know the rules," his dad said without looking away from the screen, meaning that the game had probably reached the tense final ten minutes. Just enough time to grab his bag, check his hair and get gone.

"Mhm," he said, waiting until his face was definitely out of view to roll his eyes, "Back by six, no taking candy from strangers, and no playing on the swings."

"Kurt."

"Kidding, Dad. Kidding."

* * *

><p>Kurt had long since decided that Saturday was a good day. Especially days like today when the sun provided a nice warm spot on the hill at the edge of the park.<p>

He didn't have to go to school and get picked on, but he didn't have to go to church and be condemned to an eternity in hell either.

On Saturdays Kurt got to do as he pleased - at least once his homework was done. That usually meant hanging out with Rachel Berry in town, but she was busy with her boyfriend that afternoon. When Rachel wasn't available he made the trip to the park on his own. If anyone asked, not that they did, then he was there to enjoy the sunshine and work in his sketchbook, but that wasn't the only goal. He'd never tell anyone, but it was also an excuse to watch the boys playing sports. It seemed pretty childish, considering he was almost eighteen, although it wasn't as if he had a real choice. Not unless he wanted to actually end up like Mr. "Confirmed-Bachelor" Ryerson who lived a couple of streets over from him.

Kurt liked to think of his time at the park on a saturday afternoon as his weekly allowance. If he got it out of his system then, he didn't have to worry about it at school or in front of his dad. Really, what was the harm? It wasn't as though anyone would ever be able to prove anything, and that was if they even bothered to consider what he was doing for more than a cursory glance. If he wasn't an only child he might have worried about someone seeing his sketchbooks, but he kept them in a shoebox under his bed, where no one was ever going to look. Not to mention he padded every few pages with sketches of trees, people walking their dogs, normal stuff. That way the sketches of the boys playing sports looked normal too.

Today one boy had caught his interest, and he'd already managed to fill half a page with torso outlines. He was playing baseball, and his jacket was undone. The cover story was that the way the jacket moved when he ran made for a challenging subject, but like a lot of Kurt's life, it wasn't the total truth. It might have been something he realized halfway through the second drawing, but it wasn't what had caught his eye. The way his hair was slightly curly had caught his eye, and the way his smile drew focus from his round face had kept his attention. He didn't know the boy's name, but that was hardly surprising. He didn't really know any of the jocks from school apart from Finn, and that was only because of Rachel. Knowing his name wouldn't make a difference, anyway.

Even now as he was high-fiving his friends Kurt could feel the heat rising slightly on his face. There was a humiliating irony in it all, really. He had accepted that he liked boys how most boys his age liked girls, whether or not he got to act on it. Most likely not. And that was okay, because he'd always have his drawings and his Saturday afternoons. He was pretty that once he found someone and got married and had forced himself to have a kid or two that he wouldn't need his drawings anyway. He didn't really know how the whole thing worked - or why he of all people should have to deal with this on top of everything else - but there wasn't much else he could do about it. He just had to let his face flush, enjoy the guilty pleasure and get on with his life. It might have been worse if he actually believed in some sort of grand deity, some being responsible for his suffering, but he'd been giving lip-service at church for as long as he could remember. Not that he'd ever tell his dad that, of course.

Forcing his eyes back to the page of sketchbook he outlined the boy's arm, attaching it to a thick torso and legs. He didn't look up again until he was recreating the gentle curls on his head for the fifth time in the space of about half an hour. It had been a while since he'd spent so long on one subject. Finn Hudson - much to his chagrin - had a regular presence, but Kurt knew he was off-limits, so it was much more of the aesthetic appeal than anything else. Perhaps it was a little pathetic, but the _idea_ of most of the guys as he drew them was as important a part as their actual physical makeup. He gave them a personality in his head. It was difficult not to. Like today's specimen; he looked a little intimidating but actually he was a soft-soul deep down, and a secret romantic. In a reality where Kurt didn't have to hide - and the guy would actually return his interest - he might bring him flowers before they went on a date.

Kurt shook his head, a dry smile curving on his lips as he took a moment to carefully replace some hair that had fallen in front of his eyes by running his hand through his quiff. When he started picturing date scenarios, that was his cue to leave. He'd managed to kill a few hours at least, and Rachel would probably be doing her homework. Even if Finn was still there they probably wouldn't mind him intruding. He didn't want to, but he didn't really have a great wealth of choices when it came to friends. That was just another joy in the life of Kurt Hummel.

* * *

><p>"Hey Rach?" Kurt asked, lightly crossing his legs as he sat at the edge of the bed. He'd been lucky, Finn had just left when he'd arrived.<p>

"Yeah?" Rachel said, not looking up from her workbook. At first Kurt had wondered why she didn't just do her homework in the morning, but he'd realized that if he had had a girlfriend he would probably have do it in the afternoon too. Not that he had any clue what he and his imaginary girlfriend would do with the morning, but at least he'd be getting the more painful experience out of the way first.

"D'you have any plans for after high school?" He'd wanted to ask something else, but at the last minute he'd changed his mind. Worse than the paranoia that someone would figure him out was the paranoia that he might be giving himself away.

"Broadway, New York, I'm sure I've told you that," Rachel sounded a little confused, which was hardly surprising considering what a stupid question Kurt had managed to produce on short notice. Luckily he had a plan to rescue it.

"No, I know, but I meant with Finn? Do you really think he'll want to move to New York with you?" Kurt would have been lying if he claimed he'd never wondered about it before. He would never have put the two of them together if he had been the one choosing, but after a year and a half even he had to admit they worked. Most of the time, anyway.

"Well, he supports me, so surely -" It was typical Rachel. Kurt loved her dearly, and her singing voice was frustratingly second to none, but she tended to forego other people when it came to what she wanted. She was getting better, but it was probably always going to be a part of her makeup. She was almost genetically predisposed - or perhaps pathologically committed - to climbing to the top of any heap she chose.

"And what about what he wants, hm?" If there was one thing Kurt prided himself on, it was his ability to be upfront with people. None more so than Rachel.

She did look up then, and her face said it all. She hadn't really thought about it, and now she was feeling guilty. He might have felt sorry for her, but his sympathy was running low having listened to her plan out her life so many times under the assumption that Finn would just follow in toe like a loving and faithful pet. He knew that wasn't how Rachel really saw him, and Finn had to know that too, otherwise he'd have left by now. As the quarterback of the Titans he could pretty much pick his fancy from the girls at school, which made Rachel a stranger choice still. Further testimony to the fact that they had to be committed to each other, really.

Sliding down to the end of her bed, nearer her desk, he pulled a sympathetic smile, "You know there's no harm in actually _talking_ to him about it, right? I mean worst case scenario you've still got all of senior year together. That's more than most people get," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"I guess you're right," she said, brushing her hair behind her ear where her headband had failed to contain it, "Speaking of, have you seen anyone you like around lately?"

There was that ever-so-slightly cringe-worthy smile on her face which appeared whenever she was overly-interested in something. Luckily it wasn't the first - and wouldn't be the last - time Kurt had been asked the same question, and he'd gotten good at diplomatic answers.

"No," he said, extending the word and raising his voice, feigning disappointment, "But when I do you'll be the first person to know."

"Good," she nodded, satisfied for the moment, "I could always ask around the drama club, if you're interested."

"No," he repeated; it wasn't the first time he'd heard that one either, "I'm fine.I'm just waiting for the right person to come along." He bit his tongue to stop him adding a jibe at the drama club's expense. There was a reason he'd never signed up despite Rachel's prodding, and it wasn't just the additional dumpster dives. The girls - and guys - in that particular club had a hard time distinguishing between stage drama and actual drama, which meant hanging out with them for any length of time became incredibly draining. Luckily Rachel had other interests - _"__Multi-faceted __talents,__"_ as she called them - to mediate her inner thespian.

He glanced over her shoulder, "You've missed a step on problem four, by the way." She hadn't, but it was enough of a distraction to change the subject.

* * *

><p>Dinner was meatloaf for the second time that week. If Kurt hadn't known better he'd have said it was his dad's attempt at creating a family dish, but the truth was that he only knew how to cook about four things. Not that he'd ever consider opening one of the several cookbooks that lined the shelf next to the refrigerator. God forbid.<p>

"So, good day?" Burt asked.

"It was okay. I helped Rachel with her homework for most of it."

"Get all yours done?"

"Yes, Dad," Kurt trilled. It was such a parent question, especially because they both knew Kurt got all his homework done Friday night and Saturday morning. No wild nights out partying for Kurt. "I even managed to get a chapter ahead in English."

"Good," Burt said around a mouthful of food, in a tone of accomplishment, as if his parenting duties for the day had been done. Kurt was tempted to ask if the Browns had indeed lost their game earlier, but this was the most talkative his dad had been all week and he didn't want to put a dampener on things. He didn't get much of a chance to say anything anyway as Burt carried on, "Done anymore thinking about what we discussed yesterday?"

"Dad," Kurt quickly chimed, not wanting to have the same conversation for the second night running, "I've got months until the applications are due. I don't even know what course I want to do yet."

"Which is exactly why you of all people should be looking. You're a smart kid, Kurt, and I don't wanna see you throw your life away because you left things too late. Have you at least looked at some more extra-curriculars?"

The truth was Kurt had no clue what he was going to do about college. He'd already looked at a few theatre programmes in and out of state, but he knew his dad would prefer for him to go into something more concrete. He knew there was sense in that, but it didn't change the fact that math or history didn't really interest him in the way performing did.

"Well, there's the Model UN club that just started," Kurt hedged.

"Mm, anything else?"

"I'm not trying out for sports, Dad."

"I'm not saying you have to, but it _would_ look good on your college application. You've got the body of a runner, I'd bet. Or even the kicker on the football team if you did some training," he caught Kurt's incredulous expression and sighed, "Look, I don't want you to do something you're not gonna enjoy, but I just think you should be considering all the options. The broader you are, the more impressive you look. There's no point on writing something off until you've at least given it a shot, okay?"

"Okay, Dad," Kurt replied, if only to end the conversation. He had no intention of spending any duration with the same jocks that laughed at him in the hallways with their stupid, ugly letterman jackets. He spared a moment to wonder when he'd become so quick to just agree with people to get some peace, but he couldn't come up with a satisfying answer. "I'll start the search again come Monday," he finished, scraping what was left of his meal onto his fork and clearing his plate. "May I be excused?"

"You may. Make sure you get an early night, we need to be up bright and early tomorrow."

Kurt just smiled, not wanting to think about Sunday until it arrived. Saturday was the best day of the week, and he wasn't going to sully that by getting hung up on lesser days like tomorrow.

Upstairs he gave himself a stern look in the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth. Not for the first time he wondered if it was possible to see that he was different. It was true that his features were more feminine that a lot of the other boys, but it wasn't as though he was exclusively scrawny. His voice was an octave or so higher than most, too, but again, it wasn't something he could lay sole claim to at McKinley. There was nothing on his face that singled him out - nothing that signaled _homosexual_ - but maybe you could only see it if you weren't homosexual yourself. Maybe that was why he got picked on; they could all see something that was invisible to him, some sort of glowing light above his head, perhaps.

It was certainly easier to blame it on some unidentifiable marker than what was more likely: that he was just different. The jocks could care less about what was going on in his head, the truth was that he didn't fit the mold they wanted, so he got picked on. Nothing more, nothing less. _'__Social __Darwinism __at __work,__'_ he thought with a shudder as he spat into the sink.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter.

He'd always have his Saturday afternoons.

And they were enough.


End file.
